


Praying for a Miracle

by Kienova



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Africa, Contraception, F/M, series 6 christmas special divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 12:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6704548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kienova/pseuds/Kienova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shelagh doesn't know where she and Patrick stand now that Sister Julienne has made her opinion on contraception so clear. (Takes place around series 6 Christmas special)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Praying for a Miracle

Patrick realised, about a week after the contraception discussion with Sister Julienne, how deeply the older woman’s words had struck his wife. Shelagh had become slightly withdrawn, shying away from his affections at night, instead curling in on herself to sleep. Until then, they had always had a very open and physical relationship with one another within their marital bed, and it worried him to see this shift in her.

“Shelagh,” he started as they changed for bed, wary of his wife’s posture, knowing she would sense a question to follow simply because of his tone. She tossed him a look over her shoulder, urging him on silently as she dressed. “Are you uncomfortable with making love?” Her eyes widened at the accusation, her body pivoting so that she was fully facing him, only half of the buttons on her nightdress fastened.

“Patrick, what on earth would give you that idea?” she queried.

“Since we’ve been discussing contraception and the potential havoc that could cause according to the church you... you don’t seem as keen,” he muttered, unsure of how to broach the subject now that he was in the midst of it. Shelagh sighed, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, running her hand through her hair.

“Please, don’t apologise, I just want to know what’s going on,” he assured her, kneeling in front of her and placing his hands on her waist.

“It’s just... hearing Sister Julienne speak so avidly against it, and reminding me of how the church views sex without the purpose of procreation... I just... I don’t know where we fall into God’s ideas about intimacy anymore,” she confessed, eyes downcast. He could see her tearing up, old wounds still so fresh as the next few words slid from within her. “We... we can’t have children so... so I don’t know if God wants us to share such affections when there is no... no purpose for them in the eyes of the church.” She broke apart at the admission, clinging to Patrick’s top as he surged upwards, wrapping her in his arms.

“God would not punish us for loving one another,” he breathed into her hair, peppering kisses on her temple. “How could he punish anyone for wanting to be close to their spouse? For being welcoming of new life if a miracle were to happen? For wanting to share all of ourselves with one another?” He held her until her tears slowed, stroking her cheek as she fell asleep in his arms, exhausted. “Tell her the truth,” he whispered to her sleeping form. “Tell her you’re praying for a miracle.”

 

* * *

 

 

He went to Nonnatus the next morning, rage boiling beneath his skin, still so angry at how Sister Julienne’s words had impacted his wife.

He cornered the nun in the kitchen, careful to temper his words as he hissed them at her.

“Sister Julienne. While I understand your position on contraception, I implore you to be careful about how you show your opinions around my wife. Shelagh looks to you as a mother and friend, and to hear you speak so negatively regarding the relationships between a husband and wife, especially when children are not a possibility, regardless of how much they are wanted, is extremely detrimental to her. I haven’t seen her this upset since she was told we can’t have a baby,” he snapped, eyes hard as he forced himself to remain looking at the woman in front of him. Sister Julienne looked as if he has struck her across the face.

“Doctor Turner, if I had had any idea that my words would have affected Shelagh in such a way, I would have never phrased them the way I did,” she hastily apologised. “I admit, I know not of the relationships between a husband and a wife, but I had no idea that Shelagh would see my thoughts on contraception as a... distaste for your relationship.”

“Well she has. And I ask you to be extremely vigilant of any further discussion of the matter with her. She will never admit it, but I know she prays for a miracle every time we are together. Just keep that in mind.”

With that he swept out of the room, headed off on his rounds and leaving Sister Julienne in stunned and reflective silence.

 

* * *

 

Shelagh returned to her normal self a few days later, openly accepting his kisses when they are at home; her hands lingering on his shoulder or arm when they are at work.

When he gets word that he is to travel to Africa for a few months, she becomes the initiator of their physical intimacy more often than not. Kissing him ravenously when the children are out of the room, biting his ear playfully as she would lean over him to tell him about a patient at his desk, yanking his clothes off the minute they were ensconced in their room at night.

The week before he leaves for Africa they make love every day, sometimes more than once. She clung to him the morning his boat was due to leave, their skin still damp from exertion, crying into his chest in the darkness of the early dawn. She doesn’t know how Poplar, let alone she and the children, are going to survive without him for four months.

“I don’t want you to go,” she said as they stood on the docks a few hours later, the morning sunlight creeping across the wooden slats that made up the pier. “I know you have to, but I wish you didn’t.” When the missive had come she had been worried and against it, but knew that Patrick needed the respite from Thalidomide, so she had agreed, albeit with reservations. Africa would be difficult, but it would be a change, a way for him to escape the worries of Poplar even if it were only for a little while.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he assured her, both happy and sad that the children aren’t there to see him off. Timothy understood him leaving. Angela wouldn’t. He wrapped his arms around his wife, holding her tightly to his chest as the horn from the ship blared in the background, telling the passengers it was due to depart soon.  She didn’t care that the nurses were witnessing her fall apart, the younger women giggling as they boarded the ship, Sister Winifred and Sister Julienne following them up onto the deck at a slower and more measured pace.

“I love you,” Patrick said, kissing Shelagh soundly, fighting against his own emotions.

“I love you too,” she replied, voice catching. “Promise you’ll write to me.”

“You know I will,” he assured her, kissing her once more before gently pulling away, darting up the ramp onto the ship. If he stayed one moment longer, he knew he would never be able to leave her, even if it were for only a few months. He stood at the edge of the deck, watching her figure fade as the ship embarked, staring until London became a blurry mess in the distance.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes five months, not four, before they’re able to leave Africa and return to Poplar. The ship docks in the evening, the early summer sun sinking in the distance and casting red and orange shadows across the Thames. He was exhausted, wanting nothing more than to go home, to hug his children, kiss his wife, and crawl straight into bed.  He wondered what they were doing in that moment. Was Shelagh making tea? Was Timothy doing his homework while adamantly complaining about it? Was Angela still obsessed with pinecones and doll prams?

He was barely halfway down the ramp when he saw a streak of blue dodging across the pier, blonde hair catching the last few rays of sunlight and turning the loose waves to glittering gold as the figure dashed across the dock, scrambling up the gangplank, not caring about the other disembarking passengers. She was in his arms before he knew it, arms around his neck as she pepped kisses across his entire face. He didn’t ask how she knew when the ship was getting in, too enamoured by the fact that his wife was there, once more where she belonged, in his arms.

“I’ve missed you,” she sobbed between hasty kisses, laughing as he begrudgingly had to part from her long enough to get them down the remaining meters of the ramp so that the rest of the passengers could remove themselves from the boat.

“I’ve missed you too my Love,” he said, clinging tightly to her hand. He wanted to ravish her on the spot, the evening sun turning her features into a work of art, eyes flecked with blue and silver, hair radiant, and smile so wide he felt his heart break at the image. Unable to resist he pulled her back into his chest, kissing her soundly, his hands tracing patterns on her lower back. “Let’s go home,” he said when he broke away again, panting, their impassioned kisses making his heart thud beneath his ribs.

He doesn’t bother to gather his things, Fred collecting all the bags from Nonnatus in the distance. He knew that Phyllis would notice his departure and instruct Fred to get his luggage as well as he took his wife’s hand, letting her lead him down the streets and towards the car. He chuckled, loving how she had learnt to drive before he had gone, one of their last minute trysts having occurred on a back road just outside of London, three days before he left.

The children were ecstatic at his return. Timothy seemed to have grown again, now nearly the same height as his father, as he pulled him into a hug. Angela had squealed in excitement, babbling on in the way that only a toddler could, his own moniker of “Daddy” interspersed between stories of dolls and puppies.

“She’s been wanting a puppy since you left,” Shelagh informed him as she told Angela to say goodnight before she took her upstairs, putting her to bed. Timothy told him stories of school, of his mates, of the cricket matches he had been listening to on the wireless until Shelagh returned, shooing the boy to his own bed, noting the time.

They barely made it to their bedroom before they were on one another, Shelagh practically toppling Patrick onto the bed as she undressed him, kissing him the entire time. Their love making that night was heated and frantic, both desperate to feel one another again. They fell asleep curled around each other after the second round, too tired to bother getting dressed, despite the thought that their children could come into the room at any moment during the night or early dawn.

Patrick awoke just before the sun, still used to getting up early from Africa. He sighed, tracing his hand along Shelagh’s naked ribs, dragging his fingers across her breasts, cupping them slightly, noting how full they felt in his hands. He moved his hand down her body from there, stroking the soft skin of her diaphragm and stomach, stilling as he felt a tiny movement beneath his palm. Pressing it more tightly to her abdomen he felt his breath catch in his throat. Instantly he lifted himself onto his elbow, the sheet falling away from his body as he leaned over, looking at his own hand on Shelagh’s belly. The swelling was still small, a testament to her petite figure, but it was unmistakable.

“Shelagh?” he asked, breathless. She cracked open an eye, looking up at him with a smile playing about her lips, the predawn light seeping through the curtains.

“I guess all that praying we did worked,” she grinned, yanking him down for a kiss.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
